


long live his knight.

by ghcsttown



Series: long live the king [2]
Category: Minecraft (Video Game), Video Blogging RPF
Genre: Afterlife, Angst, Angst with a Happy Ending, Blood, Character Death, Character Study, Clay | Dream-centric (Video Blogging RPF), Dialogue Light, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Hurt/Comfort, I Wrote This While Listening to Hozier's Music, Just a mention though, M/M, Mentioned Sapnap (Video Blogging RPF), Not Actually Unrequited Love, Reunions, Sequel, Use of Real Names, anyways please read this! im sad, as always, dnf king and knight au how original, dream is actually in heaven lol, dying and ascending to heaven asf, lit er ally how do i tag, this is a sequel!!!, tw
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-02-17
Updated: 2021-02-17
Packaged: 2021-03-12 00:34:01
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,677
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29501373
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ghcsttown/pseuds/ghcsttown
Summary: "Clay had lived another 54 years, 9 months, 2 weeks, 6 days, and 5.2 hours before he saw his king again."sequel to long live the king.
Relationships: Clay | Dream/GeorgeNotFound (Video Blogging RPF)
Series: long live the king [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2167008
Comments: 5
Kudos: 75





	long live his knight.

**Author's Note:**

> HELLO!! this is a sequel to my first published DNF work 'long live the king" 
> 
> if you havent read that, it might help before diving into this! it doesnt start right after the events of LLTK, but they trigger the events in this fic. 
> 
> big thank you to my pal pheonix for beta reading!
> 
> and as always, if dream and george change their minds this will be taken down immedietly :]

Clay had lived another 54 years, 9 months, 2 weeks, 6 days, and 5.2 hours before he saw his king again.

He had spent those years fighting to protect the kingdom he once loved, but now couldn't bear to live in anymore. He had watched Her Royal Highness start the empire anew, ruling with a gentle fist and bringing life back to the land he once called home. He hated how he knew that George wouldn’t have been able to do that. 

His name had still burned Clay’s tongue, even after all those years. His lungs would tighten and restrict and he was coughing up blood, but he still muttered it out; a silent prayer for his lost love. 

When the night had grown dark and the last of his washcloths were stained crimson red, he fell into the dark with a kiss on the forehead and a thankful goodbye from The Queen. 

He had been petrified for months, fearing the exact outcome that he knew was inevitable. His fear had overwhelmed and consumed him, he didn’t want to go. He didn’t want to leave Rose with no one else to remember her brother. He didn’t want to leave Nick alone in that great big house they built in the countryside. He didn’t want to let George’s memory fade into oblivion. He didn’t want to leave.

But in that moment, he was overcome with a sense of peace. Everything was done, everything would be okay. The priest had finished reading Clay his last rites. Clay had given his last confessions, a weak voice whispering to the entire room that he loved George in a way he shouldn’t have. He had been forgiven. There was nothing to fear. All was well.  


He finally succumbed to the plague, aged 74, with the image of brown eyes and wet curls burned against his eyelids. He gave out with a whisper of George’s name and a smile spread across his face. 

—————————————————

Waking up was the exact opposite of what he expected. If he was being honest, he expected to see bright whites and blinding lights, he expected to wake up on a bed of clouds surrounded by angels. He expected to see a God.

But he didn’t. He woke up in his old bed in the palace, his body feeling lighter and his usual pain dulled significantly. The satin sheets he used love so much were spread out and falling onto the floor, pale beige clashing with the deep hazelnut flooring. 

The sun was streaming in through the windows, casting the room in soft and familiar yellow light. A far-off memory called to him, one where Nick and the other soldiers laughed about the lavish room gifted to him for his birthday by the young king. And although George swore on his father's grave that he held no favoritism in his heart, everyone, himself included, knew he was lying. 

The smell of morning tea drew him out from under the covers, pulling him towards the grand dining room where he and George used to spend their mornings.  


He hadn’t been there in years. The last time he went he had broken down, screaming and crying upon seeing the king's empty chair. He was supposed to stand by Rose and watch the door that day, but it was all too much. He was allowed to remain off dining room security for the remainder of his service. 

His feet hit the cold wood floor. He prepared himself for the ache of his feet hitting the floor to shoot burning pain up his legs, but it never came. He stood, lighter than he had in years, and gracefully strode to the ornate full-length mirror he knew rested parallel to his bedroom door. 

He was young. His wrinkles had faded and his hair had returned to its former golden blonde state. His freckles were more prominent and his beard was back to a barely-there shade of stubble. He would’ve been beautiful in his own eyes if the image of his younger self wasn’t burned in his mind as being stained in the scarlet red blood of his king. As he examined himself, he struggled to see what George found so appealing.

To him, his 19-year-old self would always be covered in dark red, dripping down his hands and smudged across his face and matting down his hair. 

He couldn’t stand to look at himself. He had to leave that room, he had to go somewhere, _anywhere_ , else.

The smell of raspberry pancakes pulled him back to earth, grounding him, if only for a single moment. They were George’s favorite. He smiled to himself, the memory of George forcing forkfuls of, what was basically dessert, into Clay’s mouth when the other guards weren’t looking. He had to take three deep breaths to stop himself from falling apart on the spot. 

In, out. In, out. In, out. 

It’s okay, he would be okay. It was all confusing and he didn’t understand what was going on for the most part, but he knew it would be that way for a while. 

He’d died, he knew that much. But he didn’t expect the afterlife to be this way. He didn’t expect it to be familiar. He didn’t expect to be back in the palace, back in his old room, back in his old body. 

It was comforting, albeit a bit creepy. He hadn’t been to the palace for years before his death, and if he had his choice he wouldn’t even have gone back for that. He only went back at the request of Nick, crying over his body in the middle of the night and begging him to ask Rose to let him pass in the room George gifted him over fifty years ago. 

He remembered the way the paintings outside of his room lined the walls, soft pink flowers, and women in flowing dresses framed with ornate gold hanging off white molding. 

They were the exact same now as they were then. His eyes caught on the painting of George, hanging proudly over a hallway table covered in potted lavender and orchids. 

When he was faced with the door to the grand dining room, his heart dropped to his stomach and his heart rate increased tenfold. He didn’t want to be alone anymore. He didn’t want to see George’s empty chair, he didn’t want to see the place setting they always left for him continue to remain empty, he didn’t want to feel the ghost of what could’ve been suffocating him anymore. 

But at the same time, he missed the way the familiar harp somehow sounded softer the closer to it you were, he missed the crackling of the fireplace and the way the meals made the room smell, he missed George sneaking him bites of food. 

He pushed the heavy oak door open, music washing over him and pulling him farther and farther into the room. Everything was exactly the same as it was in his memory. Large billowing curtains, plates stacked up, burning candles, flowers spread out everywhere. 

But then there was George. George, sitting in his usual seat, a small smile spread across his face. George, brown curls swept carefully away from his eyes. George, cheeks tinted pink and eyebrows raised. He looked just like he did the day he died; young and untouchable.

Clay couldn’t say anything. He couldn’t move, he couldn’t speak, he couldn’t breathe, he couldn’t stand. His heart was pounding through his chest and his thoughts were running a mile a minute. 

“I’ve been waiting for you,” George laughed. It’s airy and effortless, the same as Clay remembers it being. “I was starting to think you wouldn’t show up!”

He was here. He was here and he was smiling and breathing and speaking and living and _here._

It was a rush of emotions, good and bad. The weight that accompanies decades of missing someone crashed down on him all at once and forced his knees to give out below him. 

He hit the carpet with a muted thud, body shaking and tears spilling out. He felt like he was choking, the taste of salt invading his mouth while his body kept shaking. 

_“Oh,”_ George whispered, standing up and rushing over to where Clay was sitting on the floor. _“My baby…”_

He wrapped his arms around him, enveloping the former knight in the feeling of warmth he hadn’t known since he was 19. They rocked back and forth, Clay’s hands clutching tightly onto the fabric of George's shirt and soaking it with tears. 

George ran his hands through Clay’s hair, softly detangling it as he went, pressing light kisses to his temple. “My dream,” He whispered, pulling the blond closer. 

“I,” Clay started, throat closing tightly as he tried to force the words out. “I missed you, Georgie. So much,” 

“I know,” George whispered. “I missed you too.” 

“Every- God,” Clay coughed, pushing away from George’s chest and looking him in the eyes. George ran his thumb along tan skin and dark freckles, drying tears as he went. “Every night… I dreamt of you.” 

George smiled. It was the same shy and love-stricken smile he had reserved for Clay. The same smile that came to him in his dreams. 

“Every day I wondered when you would walk through that door,” George laughed. It’s not loud or boisterous like his laugh usually was, it’s quiet. It’s a laugh only they get to hear. 

“I never thought I would-” Clay fumbled, a large smile overtaking his face as he stared into the brown eyes he had fallen in love with decades ago. “I never thought I would see you again, my love,”

He pressed their foreheads together, letting himself get lost in the feeling of George being next to him after all these years. 

The late king briefly connected their lips, his thumb still brushing along the late knight's cheek. 

“I promised you we’d have time, didn’t I?” George mumbled, smiling against Clay’s lips as they fell back onto the plush carpet.

**Author's Note:**

> thank you so much for reading!! kudos and comments are super appreciated :]
> 
> WC: 1677
> 
> keep up with me!
> 
> twt: H0NKKATE  
> ig: katiee.tb


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